


Tinsel and Mistletoe

by BlanketFortAvenger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blame it on the mistletoe, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas fic, Christmas!Peter, Complete, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, No Smut, Not Beta Read, Peter is secretly a Christmasophile, Stiles Stilinski is Eighteen Years Old, Stiles finds out, The other characters/ships are only briefly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 09:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13144122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlanketFortAvenger/pseuds/BlanketFortAvenger
Summary: All Stiles had intended to do was drop off some presents. Instead, he picks the lock to a festive wonderland, with an unexpected denizen.





	Tinsel and Mistletoe

All Stiles had intended to do was drop off some presents. Derek, and Peter had gone south for the holidays to visit Cora, and Stiles was perfectly capable of letting himself in. He didn’t want to leave them on the doorstep, and anyway, the werewolves’ sense of smell would tell them immediately who had been in their home. He jimmied the tools in the Loft’s lock, and heard a distinct click as he lifted the latch.

It wasn’t so unusual that Stiles spent Christmas day alone. It happened on occasion when his dad had to work, and Scott travelled with mama McCall to visit extended family. Well, that wasn’t so much the case this year, as the McCalls were hosting Christmas dinner for Alison, her father, and Isaac. Stiles had been invited also; he had respectfully declined. So, Stiles decided to drop off all his gifts, and be home in time to cook a nice meal for himself, with enough leftovers for his father. Then he’d curl up with a mug of warm eggnog, blankets, and a movie.

Stiles pulls closed the Loft’s heavy door, and then turning, promptly bites his tongue, because he’s obviously gone and broken into the wrong dreary, greyscale, loft. He can tell that he’s in the wrong place, because dreary and greyscale, this loft is certainly not.

“Deck the halls…” Stiles breathes as he takes in the grandeur.

Ivy is wound up around the tall concrete columns, and masses of holly lines the spiral staircase. The entire apartment is a glistening picture of green, red, and gold. Fresh juniper, and tinsel shimmers from where it’s tastefully included _everywhere,_ but the sight that takes Stiles’ breath, is the tree. A Christmas tree stands tall by the large glass windows. The stunning, masterpiece is backdropped by the rain’s grey sky, but Stiles can hardly summon a complaint when it only serves to make the room feel all the warmer. There’s so many ornaments that the colours are almost indistinguishable. What’s more, is the smell. The loft smells like Christmas. Stiles can smell the sweet, decaying scent of the ivy, but there’s also thyme, and almonds. Then, there’s the sumptuous scent of roast turkey, cinnamon, cranberry, nutmeg, and that can only mean one thing.

Stiles turns meaning to simply slip back out before anyone can accuse him of B&E, then remembers that whoever is here would have heard his heartbeat from the parking lot. He doesn’t want to intrude, but figures he can just drop off the gifts, and run. Stiles ventures a little further into the apartment, and comes upon the veritable feast that has him drooling. The spread looks honestly amazing, rich, and effortlessly too much for just the one place that’s been set at the table – even for a werewolf. The cutlery looks like true silverware, and so completely different from the plastic, take-out forks he’s used to seeing Derek with. There’s a glass of red wine, half-drunk, sitting alone on the kitchen counter, but no sign of whoever was responsible for the most magnificent Christmas effort Stiles has ever witnessed.

Stiles thinks of the three wolves that could be responsible. Two weren’t even meant to be in the state, and the third was down the road having dinner with Stiles’ best friend, and hasn’t stayed here in weeks. There was no way Isaac was able to do this, and even less chance that he’d run out on Alison, and Scott. So that left two Hales, and Stiles only has to imagine Derek’s grumpy eyebrows as he tried to wind tinsel around and through the balustrade, before he had his answer.

“Peter?” Stiles calls, and very much expects a reply. Something smarmy, or smug as the man steps into his periphery. Something about Stiles’ dwindling moral code, or less than legal skillset. What he receives is silence. Well, apart from the soft, vinyl crooning of Christmas carols being played on a record player set up in the living room. It’s the slightly creepy stillness following any quickly vacated scene that sends Stiles’ amazement into suspicion. “Peter, I come bearing gifts, and if you don’t get out here in the next twenty seconds I’m going to start throwing mountain ash.”

“How were you sure that it was me?” Peter’s voice comes smoothly from behind him, and Stiles sighs in relief as he turns to face the man. He’s wearing a soft-looking, plum sweater that stiles imagines himself sinking into.

“Isaac’s busy being besotted, Derek doesn’t have the patience, and neither could create anything this elegant.” Stiles swings an arm out to indicate the room, other hand clutching the neatly wrapped boxes that he almost drops with the action. “If it wasn’t you, I was betting evil, pagan, deities, and was about to start throwing down.” Peter chuckles, leaning a hip against the couch, and watches as Stiles goes to put the larger of the boxes under the tree. It’s the only gift there, and looks a little strange, but at least it’s where it’s meant to be. When he turns back Peter is close, and uses a hand on Stiles’ shoulder to crowd him against the window.

“If you tell anyone what you’ve seen here, I will have to steal every one of your subsequent Christmases henceforth,” Peter threatens, and watches him curiously. Stiles only smiles, presses a small, burgundy-wrapped box into the other man’s chest, and leans against him enough to brush past.

“Merry Christmas, Peter.”

“What’s this?” Peter asks. Threats, for the moment, forgotten.

“It’s for you, open it.” Peter looks at Stiles sceptically before using a claw to neatly slit the tape, and unfold the wrapping. Stiles rolls his eyes at the dramatics. But when Peter opens the velvet, hinge box inside, and promptly stills, Stiles begins to doubt himself.

He’d seen the pen in a second-hand store a few weeks ago, and it hadn’t been expensive. The detailing was only gold plated, but Stiles had seen the wolf engraving languidly stretched along the barrel, and he had thought of Peter. He’d hoped it’d make for a thoughtful gift. Now that he thinks of it, Stiles supposes some might consider it lacking rather than subtle, and Peter certainly has the taste and means to buy much more expensive, luxurious trinkets. “If you don’t like it, you can just leave it in a coffee shop somewhere.” Stiles mumbles, and Peter returns his attention to the younger man.

“You bought this for me?” Peter asks, voice disbelieving, as he steps closer. Stiles just nods, a little ashamedly. Peter looks back at the pen. “Thank you, I think I like it.” Stiles snorts, more amused than offended, and begins walking toward the door.

“You think?”

“Stiles…” Peter halts his escape with a hand around his wrist, just as Stiles has pulled the door open. He turns Stiles back around to face him, hands going to Stiles’ shoulders. “I do like it.” Stiles is a little stunned by Peter’s sincerity.

“Then, you’re welcome,” he whispers, trying to preserve the moment in silence. Even more so, when Peter smiles, small and kind. They simply stand like that a moment, Stiles soaking it in, before he breaks eye-contact. He takes a fortifying breath, closing his eyes, and trying to choke back his crush. He feels Peter’s hands slide from his shoulders, and down his arms. His hands linger at Stiles’ wrists, before letting go. When Stiles opens his eyes, his attention is stolen, and focus lost. There’s a sprig of mistletoe hanging in the doorway above them by a dainty, golden bow. He looks back at Peter, stood just in front of him. Peter shrugs, smirking.

“The entrance was looking a little bare. So, shall…” Peter doesn’t get to finish as Stiles kisses the leer right off his lips. It hadn’t been flirtatious, not seriously. It was bound to be one of Peter’s signature creeper-wolf lines, but as he leaned further into the man, in one way or another, Stiles was done for.

Peter is still, and Stiles reaches a hand up to pat his shoulder good-naturedly, as his mind tries to begin on damage control before he’s even pulled away. Stiles assumes the worst when Peter harshly grabs his hips, and hauls him forward. But then, all the rigid lines of his body go soft, and Peter is sighing against his lips, and deepening the embrace. He coaxes Stiles’ tongue into his mouth, all the while pulling him evermore closer. Stiles has to pull away after a minute, panting a little, and Peter moves to press kisses into the other’s jawline.

“Merry Christmas.” Stiles breathes again, and Peter truly laughs. Neither has let go of the other, and Stiles doesn’t mean to anytime soon.

“You’re staying for dinner.” Peter demands, and Stiles leans in to press a quick, but gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. The lights behind Peter are twinkling almost as much as his eyes.

“I’m telling Derek that you’re the Grinch,” Stiles laughs. It’s the breathless kind of laugh, one reserved for pure happiness, and Peter can’t quite believe it’s for him. “You act like you want to be alone, but you secretly love Christmas.”

“I’m just dastardly enough to steal it all for myself.” Peter grins, sweeping Stiles up into a carry hold, as Stiles laughs more. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll just have to steal all your Christmases henceforth.” Peter carries him toward the dinning room, and Stiles leans in to speak quietly into his ear.

“I think I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Seasons greetings everyone. I'm not late, It's still Christmas somewhere in the world. Hope you all have a merry time, and my best wishes for the new year.
> 
> I'd like to acknowledge that I do not own any of these characters.


End file.
